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Matt Gilbert

A memory of a torn iguana tail,
exposing bleach-clean bone, could

be an artist’s injected imperfection
– completing the idyll of the scene.

Reptile mirror image of quaintly
crumbling Mayan ruins, poking
up from white-gold sands. Offset

by squatting, low grown palms.

Beach huts are grander now, fitted

with reflective glass. Stealing flawless

blue from ocean, flattened like a table

cloth, set too late for lunch.

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